


Why?

by JayceCarter



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Addiction, F/M, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, POV Second Person, Present Tense, Reader-Insert, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 18:01:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15418533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayceCarter/pseuds/JayceCarter
Summary: When John shows up high, you wonder why either of you act the way you do.





	Why?

**Author's Note:**

> I tagged both m/m and f/m as the 'you' was written to be male or female depending on how a reader wants to picture them.

 

When he crawls into your bed and the chalk of mentats coat his teeth, you wonder why. Why does he do this to himself? What is he trying to outrun with chems?

“Sunshine,” he rasps with slurred words against your ear as he cards his fingers through your hair. “Missed you, sunshine.”

You should tell him no. You should turn him away. You should get the addictol for the millionth time and try to get him clean. The idea of another day when he heaves into a bucket followed by another night of binging and excuses drains you.

“Why do you do this?” Your fingers follow the curve of his ribs where his stomach sinks in. A diet of nothing but chems and alcohol will do that to a person, ghoul or not.

His head tilts, but you doubt he can even see you in his state. “Life ain’t anything but a riptide, sunshine.”

“And the chems, they’re what? A life jacket?”

“Nah. Chems ain’t gonna save me. They’re exactly what they are, a way to make drowning a little more fun.” His leans in and brushes his lips to yours. “Come on, drown with me.”

You want to turn him down. You want to throw him out and scream that you won’t watch him die. How dare he force you to take a front row seat to his tailspin, force you to fall in love with him knowing he’s killing himself slowly, knowing he'll never stop until he dies.

But the same riptide that has him has you, just in a different way. The wasteland is killing you both, dragging you both under, and while he clings to chems, you cling to him.

You return his kiss, fingers digging into his frame. More, you always need more. More of his touch, his voice, his breath. Maybe it’s because you know a day is coming when you’ll have none of them. 

He doesn’t argue, just gives. He strips you of your pajamas, hands clumsy as the grape from his mentats fills your mouth as well. 

The sex is fast. He is too high, and you are too hurt for any sort of finesse. It’s not about that, anyway. 

He’s lying to you, telling you you won’t lose him, telling you everything is fine.

You’re lying to him, telling him you forgive him, telling him you’re not terrified.

When you’re done, he rolls over, his back to you. His snores fill the quiet room.

You press your forehead to his back, between his sharp shoulder blades, listening to his lungs stutter against the chems, knowing one day they’ll stop, knowing your heart will break when they do.

You press a kiss to his skin and wonder why. 

  
  
  



End file.
